


Both of Us Mad, Together

by Bluehaven4220



Category: Slings & Arrows
Genre: Alice in Wonderland References, F/M, Late Night Conversations, My First Work in This Fandom, References to Shakespeare, Theatre, references to the Phantom of the Opera, theatre exercises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluehaven4220/pseuds/Bluehaven4220
Summary: Geoffrey, now sleeping in the storage closet, wakes up in the middle of the night to footsteps and sees someone settling into the back of the theatre, staring at a dark and empty stage. This time, though, it’s not Oliver.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I present you with my very first Slings and Arrows story! This was an idea that would not leave me be and I had to write it. I'd love to know what you think. 
> 
> All of Shakespeare's titles and monologues are italicized. References to characters and other works are not.
> 
> Warning for mentions of stage fright and anxiety.
> 
> Currently unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

 

The footsteps he was hearing were very quiet. So quiet, that if it hadn’t been for the fact that the theatre was empty, he wouldn’t have heard anything. Hell, the entire building was empty, except for him. And maybe Oliver. Or, Oliver’s ghost. Truth be told, once everyone had gone home and the lights went out, an empty theatre was actually a very lonely place.

So, having nothing else to do, he got up and followed those footsteps. Careful not to make a sound, he watched as she (for he could see she was a woman) crept into the theatre, closing the doors quietly behind her. He copied her movements, waiting in the shadows as she sat in one of the seats in the back of the theatre. And then she just stopped moving. She sat stock still, staring at the empty stage. In the dark, and the moonlight streaming through the window, he could see the look of longing on her face.

Very slowly, and quietly, he slipped down the stairs and into the row behind her. Seating himself down one seat away from her, he leaned forward, rested his chin on his hands, and waited. To see if she would say something, of course.

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are,” she said, still staring at the stage.

“Well neither are you,” he answered, staring at the stage, just as she was. He smirked, and leaned back in his seat. “So, what would your name be?”

“Christine,” she whispered, as though an empty theatre was some sacred place.

“Christine? Were you a ballet girl?”

A smile crept across her face. “No, that was Christine Daaé, and this is surely not the Opera Populaire.”

They were both smiling now, but he still needed to understand why Christine would have snuck into an empty theatre just to sit in a back row and look at the stage, and at two in the morning, no less. Sure, there were stranger things that happened in the theatre, like Claire falling off the stage and breaking her leg during last season’s _Hamlet_ , or seeing Oliver’s ghost in a jail cell after the sword fight and riot at Ellen’s house. If he never heard the words “I’m a suspender man, better for the digestion” again, it would be too soon.

But something told him that Christine being here at this moment in time was really important. Call it intuition, or a hunch, or whatever you like, but she needed something that only being in this theatre at this moment in time would be able to give her.

“So,” he started out, unsure of how to approach the subject. “What brings you here, at two in the morning? You know the show doesn’t open for a few weeks yet.”

She took a deep breath. “I just wanted a chance to see the stage,” she answered. “Auditioning for or even seeing a show with people everywhere is just too much for me. I get too anxious. But I wanted to see what it was like to be in a theatre, even if it was just for a few minutes.”

Geoffrey nodded. Now he understood. “You know, Christine, I’ve got an idea,” he climbed over the empty chair and sat himself in the chair next to her. “I’ll turn a few lights on, and you and me, we’ll try a few exercises up on the stage.”

Even in the dark he saw her eyes light up. “Can you do that?”

“Of course I can, I’m the Artistic Director,” he stood up and ran down the aisle to the stage. Hopping up, he turned the corner to the lighting panel, and brought the stage to life.

Christine’s mouth dropped open. She almost couldn’t believe her luck.

“Come on, what are you doing all the way back there?” he called to her.

Smiling, it was too much for her to resist. Christine grabbed her bag and ran to the stage, same as he had. He offered her a hand up, which she accepted, and suddenly she was standing on the stage. Her mouth dropped open at the sheer brilliance of it.

“Alright, so… shall we start with introductions?” He looked at her, smirking. “Geoffrey Tennant, Artistic Director, recently emerged from the crypt, forty-five years old.”

Christine chuckled.

“Christine Maclean, hotel housekeeper, perpetual loner, twenty-eight years old,” she decided to play along, shaking his offered hand. After all, he hadn’t had to turn the lights on for her, but he had, simply because she was there. “And what are we going to be doing tonight, Mr. Tennant?”

He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest briefly. “Well not much more if you keep calling me Mr. Tennant. You can call me Geoffrey, and I’ll call you Christine, if you’re alright with that.”

Christine nodded.

“Okay, Christine, so the first thing I want you to do is drop your body forward and shake, almost like one of those sky dancers you see outside car dealerships. Your entire body needs to be loose and moving, and don’t be afraid to make noise. I’ll do it too. Ready? Go.”

So she did, copying his every move, letting her hair fall over her face and pressing her lips together. Something resembling the sound “awhooga blah blah blah wheee” came out of her mouth as she did. Normally that would have made her so extremely self conscious she would have almost frozen in place. But on the stage, with only Geoffrey there, and him doing the same thing, it didn’t matter.

Once they’d done it a few times, he tapped her shoulder and got her to stand up.

“Good,” he said. “Now, I see you’re wearing running shoes. That’s good. Because after I show you the difference between things like Stage Right and Down Stage, we’re going to run around the stage a few times together, so you get used to stage directions and positioning.”

And he did.

“Ready? Run to Stage Right, and yell the name of your favourite Shakespearean comedy.”

Stage Right. She knew that one. Sprinting over there, she couldn’t quite bring herself to shout, so instead projected “ _As You Like It”_ as loud as she could, which wasn’t very loud at all.

“Okay, good, but this time try to be a little louder. If I was sitting at the back of the theatre I should be able to hear you. Up Stage Left, and tell me what your favourite book is.”

She complied, this time trying to yell “ _Alias Grace”_ , and somewhat succeeding. She hoped Geoffrey could hear her a little better this time.

“Better, but I still need to hear you at the back of the theatre,” he jumped off the stage and ran back to where they had originally been sitting. “You can hear me all the way back here because I’m projecting from my diaphragm, not my throat! Now move Down Stage Right, and tell me your favourite Shakespearean tragedy.”

She did it again, yelling _“Hamlet!”_ as loud as she could.

“Still can’t hear you all that well,” Geoffrey yelled back and sprinted back to the stage. Once he was back up there with her, Christine found she was feeling a lot more confident. “Alright, we’re doing to do this until you could shout so loud it could break a window if you wanted it to. You’re going to running a lot, and if at any point you don’t think you can go on, tell me, and that’s when we’ll stop. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed. Even if it was just the two of them on the stage, she suddenly felt as though she were surrounded by an entire company of actors. Shadows of the dead, more than likely. But still completely alone, and calm. “Can we go again?”

So they did. Over and over, until finally she’d been running so much she could barely pick her feet up anymore.

“I… Geoffrey, I can’t do anymore.” She stopped herself from collapsing by taking a knee.

“You’ve got one more in you, Christine.” He argued. “And I know you do. If you can barely walk for this one, that’s perfectly fine. Hobble, crab walk, shuffle, crawl, it doesn’t matter. I want you, this time, to go Down Stage Centre, and shout the most vulgar, obscene, pearl-clutching word or phrase in your vocabulary, and be as loud as you can.”

Christine felt her eyes go wide. He really wanted her to say something like that? “And where will you be?”

“At the back of the theatre. I want to hear you. Once you do that, I’ll come back to the stage.”

“I can do that…” Christine suddenly felt very calm. No anxiety, no needing to look over her shoulder, the theatre empty except for the two of them. It was not as scary as she thought it would be. Summoning every ounce of courage she had in her body, she took a deep breath, spread her arms open wide, planted her feet, and let out the loudest, most profane word she’d ever yelled out. Her eyes had adjusted, and she could see, once she stopped screaming, that Geoffrey’s eyes had gone wide.

He made it back to the stage just as Christine felt her knees give out from under her. Although, surprisingly, she didn’t hit the ground. Geoffrey must have sprinted and caught her.

They sat together, legs stretched out on the stage, looking into the darkness.

“Does it always feel like that?” Christine asked no one in particular, but at the same time only one person. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy, and a slight spicy scent became all the more pronounced. Strange. Geoffrey wasn’t wearing cologne (she could tell from his hair that he’d just showered earlier), she wasn’t wearing perfume, and she hadn’t seen anything that could account for the smell either by the door or on the stage when she first came in. Maybe the rumours about theatres being haunted were true.

But did ghosts wear cologne?

“It depends on what it feels like,” Geoffrey answered, running his hands over his face, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Exhilarating,” she breathed and felt her hands start to shake. “Absolutely bloody marvelous.” She took a deep breath. “Like I’ve just had the biggest and best orgasm of my life.”

Geoffrey sat completely still as Christine gasped, realizing what she’d just said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“No, that’s okay,” Geoffrey turned his head and looked her in the eye. “Sometimes it does feel like that. Being on stage together can be an intensely intimate experience. It’s not surprising that a lot of actors end up in bed together, since Shakespeare is chock full of love scenes. Orlando and Rosalind, Beatrice and Benedick, Troilus and Cressida, to name a few.”

He had gorgeous eyes, she noticed.

“But I’m sure you know that. Judging from how many times you ran around the stage, you’ve read all the plays.”

Christine nodded. “Yes I have,” she answered, suddenly embarrassed. “Honestly, when you grow up without a lot of friends, you tend to find solace wherever you can find it. For me, it was in Shakespeare’s writing.” She realized how odd that must have sounded. “Simply because he wrote about life and love and loss and everything in between, even if most of his writing was pure fantasy and imagination.”

“Understood,” Geoffrey nodded again. “Is that why you haven’t been able to get on the stage till now? Because if you auditioned for any of the heroines or ingenues, the words that you know so well suddenly don’t mean as much to you as they did when you read them?”

“No, it’s not that,” she shook her head, sitting up and crossing her legs. “From your description, I suddenly wish it was for so romantic a reason. No, I have crippling stage fright. I always have. I once fainted delivering a book report in fifth grade, and every presentation I did from then on I’d have one hand on my hip, pinching so I could finish without making a fool of myself.”

“Did it help?”

“For a while,” she admitted. “That’s how I graduated high school, but after that I developed such terrible anxiety it was a struggle for me to even leave the house. When I moved into my own place and started theatre school, things got a bit better, but the stage fright has never gone away. I didn’t even make it to the first semester exams before I had to drop out, the stage fright and anxiety was just that bad.”

Geoffrey made a face and shrugged his shoulders. “You know, I didn’t see any of that when you were on the stage with me just now.” He turned to look at her, crossed his legs same as she had. “You looked…”

“How?” Christine got up to her knees, inched a bit closer, since he had moved and it was difficult to see his face. “How did I look?”

“At home,” Geoffrey stayed right where he was. “Like this stage was where you were meant to be.”

“It’s not, though,” Christine countered. “When there’s only two people, that’s all well and good, I can handle that. But in front of a crowd? You might as well kill me.”

“I don’t think it needs to come to that,” Geoffrey stood up and offered her his hand. When she took it, he led her Stage Right, and opened the trap.

“Now this here,” he walked around the other side. “This was the site of my downfall.”

Christine’s brows knitted.

“Almost eight years ago now, I was on this stage as Hamlet,” he explained. “And right in the middle of a performance, I cracked. Completely. My entire world fell apart. I would have cut my throat but you can’t do that in front of subscribers and a paying audience, so I jumped into Ophelia's grave.”

“And you didn’t come out for seven years?” she quipped, Geoffrey having to hold his tongue because the way in which she spoke those words sounded very much like Ellen. “I think I heard about that.”

“Hmm. Down the rabbit hole, as Alice would say.” He acknowledged the truth. What did he have to lose, really? “I’ve got another idea.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Let’s close this up. I have another exercise we could try.”

“Alright,” Christine certainly felt more at ease than she had been only half an hour ago. Had it really been such a short time? Then again, at two in the morning time can play tricks on you. “I’m not going to be running again, am I?”

“Not this time, no,” he assured her, closing the trap and moving them both back to Centre Stage. “We’ll both stand here, and you’re going to pick any monologue you like. Doesn’t matter which. And you’re going to say it to me. All your fear, all your anxiety, all your joy, all your sorrow, put it into that monologue.” He reached forward and gently put his hand on Christine’s shoulders. “Move around the stage as you like.”

“But…”

“There’s no one here but me,” Geoffrey gave her a smile. “It’s dark except for the lights I’ve turned on. Hold onto the feeling you were telling me about only a few minutes ago.” He let go of her shoulders and stepped back, giving her space to move. “Whatever happens, happens.”

Taking another deep breath, Christine searched her brain, and settled on Portia’s monologue from Act 3, Scene 2 of _The Merchant of Venice_.

_You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,_

_Such as I am. Though for myself alone_

_I would not be ambitious in my wish_

_To wish myself much better, yet for you_

_I would be trebled twenty times myself,_

_A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times_

_More rich, that only to stand high in your account,_

_I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,_

_Exceed account; but the full sum of me_

_Is sum of something, which to term in gross,_

_Is an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpractised,_

_Happy in this, she is not yet so old_

_But she may learn; happier than this,_

_She is not bred so dull but she can learn;_

_Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit_

_Commits itself to yours to be directed,_

_As from her lord, her governor, her king._

_Myself and what is mine to you and yours_

_Is now converted. But now I was the lord_

_Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,_

_Queen o’er myself; and even now, but now,_

_This house, these servants, and this same myself_

_Are yours, my lord’s. I give them with this ring,_

_Which when you part from, lose, or give away,_

_Let it presage the ruin of your love_

_And be my vantage to exclaim on you._

She’d felt her feet move, but she’d been unconscious of her movements. Somehow, she wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, she’d ended up circling around Geoffrey multiple times, never breaking eye contact, as though he’d turned into Bassanio. She was now staring at him, her hands gripping his forearms, willing him to listen to her…

And he was. He was staring back at her just as intensely.

Jesus Christ!

Shaking her head, she jumped back as though she’d burned him.

“Holy hell,” she whispered, turning her head away from him and pulling her sleeve down to cover her wrists. “That was…” She could feel herself trying to get her breath back. “I can’t even describe it.”

“Beautiful,” Geoffrey supplied, taking her hands in his. He lifted them and kissed her knuckles. “Absolutely beautiful.” He stepped a bit closer, sensing that she’d grown a bit bolder. “Remember what I said. Whatever happens, happens.”

Without a second thought, Christine closed the gap between them and kissed him.

“In that case,” Christine gathered up her courage again as she pulled away. “I probably should have told you that I very much want to kiss you.”

Smiling, Geoffrey gathered her in his arms and lifted her. _“Turn you where your lady is, and claim her...”_

Christine chuckled and pressed her lips to Geoffrey’s again. Quickly at first, but then as soon as she pulled away, she saw her own hunger reflected.

“If I don’t leave now, I’m going to end up fucking you in that storage closet.”

“And that would be a bad idea.” He agreed, setting her down and letting her go.

“Hmm…” Christine was suddenly very bold now, all nervousness and anxiety non-existent for the time being. “Fucking you in the storage closet, yes, that would be a bad idea. But fucking you properly in a bed because I want to, no.”

“How much of this is actually adrenaline?”

“A whole lot of it,” she admitted, keeping her eyes on him. “I can’t repay you for what you’ve done for me tonight, but, if you like, I can give you something else?”

Geoffrey’s eyes went wide, then contemplative as he considered the suggestion. Granted, Ellen hadn’t waited for him, and in truth, he hadn’t expected her to, and she’d decided that she couldn’t be with him in his current state, and Christine was offering.

“Is this pity?”

“No,” she insisted, but not at all offended that he would ask, it seemed. “This is simply an offer. If you want it, that is.”

Geoffrey stared at her for a few moments longer, then nodded. He shut the light off as she picked up her bag, and the two of them went out to her car.

The ride to her apartment was shorter than Geoffrey would have thought, though he wasn’t sure why. Once she parked, he followed her up the stairs and through her front door.

She kissed him again as they turned and she kicked the door closed behind them.

ooOoo

Thankfully, it was a Monday, and she had booked a day off, the first in at least six weeks. Still, when her alarm went off, this time at 9:30 in the morning, she felt more rested than she had in a very long time. And, as she understood it, theatres were often ‘dark’ on Mondays, to give the actors a chance to rest, so if Geoffrey wanted to stay a while, well she had no problem with that.

When she looked over to see a very naked Geoffrey Tennant wrapped in her blanket, she couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped from her mouth. Just as he stirred, she sat up and reached for her t-shirt that she used for sleeping, pulling it over her head. When she moved to get up, she felt Geoffrey’s hand reach out and grasp her own.

“Good morning,” she smiled, leaned over and grabbed her housecoat, throwing it on and tying it as she stood up. “Going to make coffee. Want some?”

“Sounds good,” he sat up, still groggy. “Hey, uh, you alright?”

“Fine, why?” she called from the kitchen which was not that far away from the bedroom: the perks of apartment living… everything in close proximity. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black, thank you,” he called back as he searched the room for his clothes. “I only ask because, I wasn’t a jerk last night, was I?”

“Oh hell no, not at all,” she pushed the button on the coffee maker and let it go to its work. “No, after what you did for me after I snuck into your theatre… you had every cause to throw me out, but you didn’t.”

“No, I meant…” he stopped, as though he wanted to be delicate about it but wasn’t sure how.

“Oh, you mean the sex,” she poured two mugs of coffee and poured a splash of milk into hers. She brought them back into the bedroom and sat down beside him. “Not to worry, you were every bit the gentleman.”

“Good to know,” he took a sip of coffee and swallowed. “Mmm, that’s nice. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled and settled back on the bed, leaning against the headboard just as Geoffrey was.

“I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.” He took another sip and handed her his mug so it was out of the way.

“What wrong impression?” Christine asked as she set her coffee cup on her bedside table along with his. “I know what this is, Geoffrey, same as you do. It was an offer to forget our troubles for a night, and to thank you,” she shrugged her shoulders. “Besides, we both know it’s not me you were fucking last night.”

“What do you mean?”

“You called me Ellen,” Christine stated, still smiling.

Geoffrey’s eyes went wide. Then he leaned back, pinched the bridge of his nose, and laughed. “Oh God. Christine, I’m sorry.”

“Why sorry? She’s obviously someone who means a lot to you, and has for a very long time,” Christine grabbed his hand and released it quickly. “Anyway, it’s not the worst thing that could happen.”   

“No, but no one deserves to be called the wrong name in bed.”

“You’re right, however I’m not about to throw you out because of it,” she insisted. “Anyway, there’s a towel for you in the bathroom, and an extra unopened toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. I’m not in any sort of hurry today, so take as long as you like.”

“Many thanks,” Geoffrey sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Since he had his back to her, she went back into the kitchen to give him some privacy. Keeping herself occupied until he disappeared into the bathroom, she went back into the bedroom and pulled the blanket back. She’d have to wash those sheets, but not just yet. When he left, she’d strip the bed, but not before then. For now, she’d settle for straightening the pillows and blankets.

After he emerged, hair still damp but looking a lot more refreshed, she smiled as she maneuvered the last pillow back into place and offered him toast to go with his coffee, which was now sitting on the kitchen table.

“Uh, no thanks, Christine,” he answered, briefly sitting down at the table just as she was. “Not really used to eating in the morning.”

“No worries. Do you mind if I do though? I’m pretty hungry.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” he answered. “Question for you, though. Have you seen my clothes?”

“Over on the chair by the window,” she pointed and stole a glance at him over her mug just as the toaster popped. “I’ll let you get dressed in peace.”

Nodding, he dressed quickly and re-emerged to sit at the table with her again. A very pregnant silence settled between them as they both sipped on their coffee, Christine chewing on her toast.

“Um…” Christine paused and swallowed. “I know I may have said this last night, but what you did for me, I can’t ever repay you.”

“You don’t need to,” Geoffrey insisted. “It wasn’t a favour, Christine. Obviously you came to the theatre to see the stage, and there was something there that you needed. Did you find it?”

“Yes I did,” she answered. “Being on that stage, there wasn’t any anxiety at all. For the first time in a long time, I felt free.” She blushed, suddenly embarrassed. “Although what I said earlier was also true.”

“True?” Geoffrey leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other.  

“I wasn’t kidding when I said being on that stage and you having me shout obscenities at the top of my lungs felt like the biggest and best orgasm I’d ever had.”

“And later?”

“Well now you’re fishing for compliments,” Christine chuckled and finished her piece of toast. “But if the fact that I was lying starfished on my bed doesn’t convince you, I don’t know what will.”

She could swear she saw him smile. “I can’t take all the credit, you know.”

“Oh well then, I suppose I should be flattered,” Christine was also smiling now. “But as nice as this was, we both know this can’t happen again.”

“That’s usually my line.”

“And now it’s mine. I stole it. Mine forever.”

Geoffrey’s eyes went wide. “Actually, now that I think about it, there is something you can do.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on the table. “Build your confidence again. Take an acting class.”

“But…”

“Just one day a week,” Geoffrey continued. “And, maybe you could also get a ticket to one of the shows. Sit in the back of the theatre like you did last night.”

“Just one performance?”

“Just one performance,” he confirmed. “Because what I saw on the stage last night was not someone whose talent should be wasted.”

“Surely you jest, sir,” she countered. “I am not talented. I’ve simply read the plays and can recite them because I stood in front of a mirror and used a shampoo bottle and a hairbrush for microphones.”

Geoffrey mulled the words in his head, pushing his tongue against the back of his teeth. “That’s how a lot of actors get started, actually.”

Christine snorted. “That’s all well and good for them, Geoffrey, but I am not an actor. I am a hotel housekeeper, and that I can do anonymously. Then I’m not in anyone’s way.”

“Yet you love theatre.”

“Must those two things be mutually exclusive?”

“No, but theatre is all about being in the way. About telling a story, and making people listen to what you have to say.” Geoffrey sipped his coffee and ran a hand through his hair. “The woman who recited Portia’s speech to me as though I was Bassanio, gripping my arms so she could force me to listen, that woman showed no such anxiety last night.”

“Yeah, but then we were both so wound up we ended up in my bed. I’m sure that doesn’t happen every time someone recites a monologue. You’d never get anything done, otherwise.”

“That’s true.” Geoffrey agreed, glancing over at the clock. “Hey, listen, what would you say to taking a drive?”

Christine smiled. “I think that’s a very good idea.” She picked up the dishes and put them in the sink. “But where? And you don’t have rehearsal later?”

“We’re dark today,” Geoffrey nodded, getting up and putting his mug in the sink as she turned on the water and added dish soap. “Does it really matter where? We’re two friends out for a drive. What’s unusual about that?”

“Are we friends? I only met you last night.”

“Sure, I don't have a problem with that if you don't.”

“No, I think that's fine. Who says you can't be friends with someone you have a one night stand with?” Christine tried not to laugh at the absurdity of her statement. “Anyway, let me finish the dishes, and then we’ll head out?”

“Sounds good to me,” he leaned back in his chair. “Do you want help with anything?”

“No that’s alright, but thank you,” she quickly washed up and made small talk, about everything and nothing at the same time. The first play she’d read, how long she’d been working at the hotel, how she’d found out they were staging _Macbeth_...

“Do you know who’s playing the lead role?”

“Yes, Henry Breedlove, and I’ve seen his work before. Pretentious blowhard.” She pulled on the faucet and added dish soap to the running water.

Geoffrey snorted. Thank God someone was being honest.

“Would you still go to see it, even just to sit in the back?”

“For anyone but him, yes.”

“I suppose that’s fair, although you’d miss out on a great performance.” Geoffrey insisted, getting up and shrugging his sweater back on. “If you do decide to come see the show, come for the other actors. They are just as brilliant, if not more, and not so far up their own asses.”   

Christine felt her face break out in a wide smile. "I'll think about it." She picked up the dish cloth and set to her work. Ten minutes later, after much checking of locations of purses and associated activities in shutting the household down for the day, they were out the door and sitting in her car again.

“So, Geoffrey Tennant, Artistic Director, where are we going?” she asked as she put the key in the ignition.

“Down the rabbit hole,” Geoffrey cocked his eyebrows and smirked at her as he did up his seat belt.

Christine found herself chuckling as she did the same. “Well then, if we’re going to go mad, let’s both of us be mad, together.” She turned the key, put her car in gear, and depressed the gas pedal.


End file.
